


The Reports of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

by zombiechick



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Developing Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiechick/pseuds/zombiechick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete is introduced to someone he was supposed to familiar with in the Warehouse.  We find out that people can sort of be artifacts too.  This was also written for the disappearing Last Fic Writer Standing at LJ some time ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reports of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

Despite the mouthful of chocolate donut, Pete was able to belt out, “And I’m gonna keep on lovin’ you, ‘cause it’s the only thing I wanna dooo! I don’t wanna sleep…” as he walked into the Warehouse office. His eyes closed dramatically, Pete practically collided with a package laden Artie as the older agent came out of a back room. Screaming like little girls, they jumped apart, startled.

“What are you, uh, what…?” Artie asked as he picked up the things Pete had made him drop.

“Artie?” Pete questioned as he picked up a tube of topical heat rub and a can of sardines. “Just what do you have planned for today?” He elbowed Artie discreetly, “Vanessa coming over?”

Artie’s face wrinkled up into a confused scowl, “Vanessa? What? What are you talking about?”

Pete waved the tube of IcyHot at Artie, “Get all limbered up and then, you know, bring out the romantic hors d'oeuvres,” he shook the can of sardines, “and the candy,” he pointed to the box of Peanut Brittle on the floor.

Artie’s guffawed, “Sardines are romantic hors d'oeuvres?”

“Well, uh,” Pete’s brow furrowed, “they’re uh,” he dropped the tin back onto the pile in Artie’s arms, “they’re kind of romantic, yeah. They’re tiny,” he finished lamely.

Artie shook his head in disbelief, “Aren’t you supposed to have the day off?” he asked.

“Well, yeah,” Pete agreed as he sat down in Artie’s chair and spun around, “but Kelly is out of town and Claudia and Myka went to track down that used book store you told ‘em about and,” he spun around again and whined, “I’m boooooored.”

“Well,” Artie said a little grumpily, “I’m busy.”

“So you do have a date?” Pete grinned.

“No,” Artie spat, “I’m, uh, going to see someone.”

“But, you don’t have any friends,” Pete stated.

Artie’s face fell slightly, “Well, thanks, Pete.”

Pete jumped up immediately and wrapped an arm around Artie in a manly hug, “Oh, that’s not what I meant, buddy, I mean just not, you know outside of the Warehouse.”

Artie shrugged Pete’s arm off his shoulder, “I have things to do,” he stated, “and you have free time that needs to be spent elsewhere.”

Pete patted Artie on the back and gave a concerned frown, “You need some time off too, big guy.” 

Artie gave him a friendly smile and deposited the armload of packages into a wheeled cart, “Okay, okay, I’ll take tomorrow off; Claudia wanted to go see a movie anyway. But today, I need to get a few more errands done so just,” he waved his arms at Pete in a flapping gesture.

Pete jumped away, “Jeez, okay, okay, I’ll go,” and headed toward the door.

Both men were stopped in their tracks as a voice from the doorway that led to the observation deck drawled, “There’s no reason to send the young man away, Artie. Frankly, I get a might tired of just your company.”

Artie sighed heartily and grouched, “That’s very kind of you Mr. Clemens.”

Pete whipped around and came face to face with a man in his late seventies dressed in any early 20th century white seersucker suit. Something about the other man clicked in Pete’s head, some spark of recognition, as he took in this wild haired, mustachioed, older man, “Hey, hey, hey, you’re uh…. Hmm,” he growled, “you’re, you’re,” he pointed with one finger and did slight knee bends.

“Is that dance meant to jog the memory, my boy?” the older man asked Pete.

Artie watched Pete’s “memory dance” several moments before huffing, “Samuel Clemens. You know, it’s Mark Twain.”

Pete’s eyes became wide, “But, Artie, you said there was no such thing as ghosts,” and he went slightly pale with fear.

Artie rolled his eyes and waved Clemens into the office, “They are no such things as ghosts,” he agreed.

“I believe,” Clemens drawled, “that my classification would be less ‘spook’ and more ‘undead,” he explained as he calmly lit a cigar.

“Hey,” Artie said sharply, “you can’t smoke that in here.”

Clemens gave a long-suffering sigh as he put out his cigar on the bottom of his shoe, “I’d forgotten that you all have deemed them a sin. I haven't a particle of confidence in a man who has no redeeming petty vices.”

Artie pointed to the older man, “Samuel Clemens meet Pete Lattimer. Pete Lattimer, Samuel Clemens.”

“So,” Pete began obviously confused, “this is Mark Twain.”

Clemens’ eyebrows tipped down into an impressive scowl, “It’s Samuel Clemens, my boy, Clemens with an ‘e.’ Twain is merely a pseudonym.”

“Wow,” Pete said with an impressed tone, which made Clemens preen slightly, “your eyebrows are even scarier than Artie’s.” The younger man jumped back and covered his head as the full force of both their scowls were trained on him, “So, uh, Artie, what is he doing here? People can be artifacts?”

“Well, not exactly, I mean well there is the bronze sector but Mr. Clemens is not from there,” he rambled. “Well, really he’s more of a sort of legacy,” Artie said delicately.

Pete saw Clemens puff up like an angry hen, “Legacy?!”

Pete gave Artie a questioning look and so the older agent laid a hand on his shoulder, turned him away, and whispered, “He and Tesla were, uh, very, well, they were very close.”

Pete could practically hear the italics in the last word and he raised his eyebrows in surprise, “They were…”

Artie nodded and whispered, “Sitting in a tree…”

“What the devil?!” Clemens bellowed. “I admired the man’s work is all. It was his confounded energy field that’s got me stuck in this damnable life, if you could call it that.” When Pete raised a questioning eyebrow, Clemens continued, “First the blast killed me and then it brought me back to life; but as an unnatural being,” he squawked. 

“Tesla gave us the patents on his work only under the stipulation that Mr. Clemens would be cared for,” Artie explained.

“We were merely companions,” Clemens grumbled as he pawed through the packages Artie had collected for him.

“You can’t believe everything you hear,” Artie murmured to Pete. “Especially from the dead.”

“Undead,” Clemens clarified once again.

“We never learned about this,” he nodded his head toward Clemens and raised his eyebrows, “in American Literature,” Pete grinned.

“So you’ve read my work?” Clemens asked brightly.

“Oh, well, uh,” Pete stuttered, “Mrs. McCormick assigned “Huck Fin” in 8th grade,” he answered vaguely and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Clemens scowled, “But you didn’t read it.”

“Well, I, uh,” Pete spread his hands, “I started it but I just…”

“Those who don’t read have no advantage over those who cannot,” Clemens stated.

“Oh stop quoting yourself,” Artie chastised him.

“So where is the bouncy little redhead today?” Clemens drawled hopefully.

“She has the day off,” Artie said with a slightly menacing tone.

“Claudia?” Pete grinned. “You’ve been spying on Claudia?”

“I like how she dances around while she’s inventorying,” he said. “And I’m not the only one,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“What?! There’re more old guys living in the stacks?” Pete laughed.

“Not ‘old’,” Clemens corrected him, “undead. And, no, there’s only me but I was referring to…”

“Alright, Mr. Clemens,” Artie interrupted him, “I’ll help you with these packages and then we’ll play that game of chess that I promised.”

“Fine, fine,” Clemens agreed and then looked back into the box of supplies, “but, Arthur, where are my cigars?”

“Vanessa told me to stop giving them to you; they’re bad for you.”

“What’s been bad for me has been the past one hundred years.” He held out his hand with an impatient scowl, “Hand them over.”

Artie sighed and took the box of cigars out from under his jacket. “Alright, alright, but please, just don’t have more than two a day. I’ll never hear the end of it from Vanessa,” he grumbled.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, young man,” Clemens said to Pete. He opened his jacket and pulled a slim volume from an inner pocket, “I believe I heard you say that you were without entertainment?” He tossed the book at Pete and the younger man easily plucked it from the air.  
“You just happen to carry around a volume of your collected short stories?” Pete asked with one eyebrow raised.

“Well,” Clemens said blushing slightly, “a man cannot be comfortable without his own approval.”

Pete shrugged his shoulders and plopped down in Artie’s chair, “Nothing else to do; might as well read a book.”

Artie and Clemens rolled their eyes and left the office laughing.


End file.
